


Not Easy. But Simple.

by gallifreyslostson



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Jon did the thing without asking Martin, M/M, Sort Of, but it's fine now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 13:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: Jon evaluates the complexity of life, the loss of sight, and tea. Not necessarily in that order.





	Not Easy. But Simple.

Jon swore as he narrowly avoided toppling the milk over entirely, then took a breath before gingerly reaching out to feel for the lip of a mug. It was extraordinary in itself how _difficult _the mundane had become, the feat of relearning the most every day tasks feeling, at times, nearly as daunting as...well. Not _quite_ as daunting as most of the things he’d experienced as of late, admittedly, but still. Far more difficult than he would have guessed.

It’s not even as if he hadn’t _expected _this. Although...that wasn’t _entirely _true either, was it? Not really. Because he hadn’t even _really _expected to survive, to actually remove himself from the thing choking him, changing him, even as it kept him alive, much less to be struggling to make _tea on his own_. He hadn’t even _thought _about _tea_, or much of anything really. Just...made a choice. For the first time in...christ, who could _really _even pinpoint how long at this point, he’d made a _choice _for _himself_. To own his _own _actions, and let the chips land where they must. It wasn’t as if the fallout would likely be his mess to deal with anyway.

But then...then he’d had to go and discover there was a bit too much _human _still left, even after the monster had been cut out. He’d survived, much to the...chagrin of some. Melanie had hated him anyway, so he wasn’t sure he could really count that as a loss at this point, and of course where Melanie went anymore...so did Georgie. But then again, that was a bridge that he’d managed to blow up beyond all possible thought of reparation long before _this_. Basira had deemed him a coward--also to be expected--and thoroughly useless, although it stung far more than he was ready to admit. It hadn’t been cowardice. It had been _exhaustion_. It had been less _fear _than the fact that he...wasn’t even sure he’d had enough energy left to _be _afraid of the multitude of things that could hurt him. Daisy...had surprised him. Sort of. She’d been furious, but...not _at _him. Not really. She was angry that she’d lost her compatriot in the fight to stay human despite the monster inside. And that, in the end, it had been...just like Eric had said, it was _simple_. Not easy, but...simple.

_Now_, however, very little was easy _or _simple. He’d given up...everything. His job, which was a shame because whatever _else _it had been, it provided a paycheck. His friends...such as they were. One of his basic senses, along with a whole host of other ones that...had attached themselves to him. It was funny, in a way, how they’d crept up on him, as it was happening, as he was..._becoming_, he hadn’t even really noticed they were there until it had been too late. Seemed too late. But he sure as hell noticed they were gone now.

Mind you, nice to be hungry just for things like bread and cheese again.

But he’d lost his...sense of things. Of...space, or time, or...people. He no longer knew what they wanted, what they were craving, what deep seated trauma drove them, or paralyzed them. More than blindness, he felt _cut off_, insulated, like there was suddenly a thick slab of Plexiglas between him and the rest of the world, the rest of humanity, and he couldn’t--

“Jon? You alright?”

_Ah._

Not _everything_ had been lost. There was one small favor the universe had deigned to grant him after allowing him to spend years tearing his own and everyone else’s lives apart.

“Do you need some help with that?”

Jon tilted his head, enjoying this one relief from the void. For all he’d lost, he had that voice to keep him grounded. It carried...warmth, like a jumper that was just a bit too large, or winter fire, or a hug. And it filled Jon with another sense that...he thought he’d lost long ago. It wasn’t...quite happiness. Not yet. But it was the sense that he _could _be happy. That one day the scars would heal, the trauma would be less immediate, that something else could take the place of all the pain and regret and guilt that had filled him up inside. Something _better_.

“Jon?”

“No, Martin,” he said quickly, picking up the mugs and holding one out in the direction of the voice. “I’m fine. I’ve made you tea.”

“...thanks, Jon.”

Sometimes you could hear a smile. Sometimes, with some people, after you’d been to hell and back...sometimes, that was even better than seeing one.


End file.
